


Heartbeats

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [51]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Even after the dead take over the world, there’s still time for a moment of peace, every so often.





	Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked to write a Sterek zombie apocalypse au - my initial plan was to write something a lot longer, but since my inspiration for long!fic has moved onto other fandoms, I ended up with this instead, because I'm a sucker for tiny little moments of happiness at the end of the world. anyways, here's this!

Beacon Hills is no more.

Of course, on a physical level, it still exists, for the most part, although a fire swept through the suburbs a week ago and rendered block upon block to ash that had clogged the air and made it nearly impossible to go outside. But while the buildings and roads are still standing, on every other level, the city doesn’t exist. Its name no longer means anything. Where it’s located on a map of California is irrelevant.

It’s just another part of the world that’s been overtaken by the dead.

There’s still an hour before dawn. In the world of before, this was one of Derek’s favorite times of day. The city would be mostly quiet, peaceful and still, but the promise of the coming sun made the thick darkness lose some of its ominous nature. The air always smelled just a little cleaner; on clear days, if he concentrated, he could even smell the sea, sharp and salty. He could run through the preserve without having to worry about hikers or campers, with only the animals hidden in the underbrush for company. He could push himself until the desperate gasp of his lungs for breath was the only thing he could hear and feel. 

But the days of running through the preserve, of peace and quiet in the hour before dawn, are long gone.

Even at the early hour, standing out on the balcony of the loft is an exercise in sensory overload. The air _reeks_ , is comprised of components that would be horrible enough on their own, let alone in combination: rotting flesh, blood, smoke and ash, pain and despair. No matter how hard he tries to block it out, the sounds of shuffling footsteps and rusty groaning and decaying teeth tearing through flesh fills Derek’s ears. The darkness is utter and true; the electrical grid failed a week or so back, and when the moon isn’t swathed by clouds, it’s difficult to see behind the pillars of smoke still rising from the smoldering suburbs.

The only thing that manages to make the scene bearable, the only thing keeping him from simply walking into the preserve and staying there for the rest of his life, are the heartbeats.

The ones out in the city are faint but discernible; somewhere out there, there are other survivors, people that they might be able to band together with. But, more importantly than that, there are heartbeats behind him, on the other side of the loft’s massive window, more than a dozen of them, the pack and their family, safe and secure, sparks of light in the overwhelming gloom.

After a moment, Derek realizes that one of the heartbeats is moving closer. Even before he tunes in to the distinctive gait of the footsteps and the scent that he knows every note of, he knows that it will be Stiles coming out to see him. Stiles rarely sleeps well when Derek isn’t beside him, and he usually ends up wandering outside before Derek’s watch shift is done. Sometimes, he falls asleep out on the balcony, wrapped up in a blanket, nail-studded bat inches away from his fingertips. Sometimes, he stands at Derek’s side, arms crossed on the ledge, and watches the world with him in silence.

Sometimes, like tonight, he shuffles out onto the balcony, yawns expansively and presses the warm line of his body against Derek’s back, drapes over him like a blanket. His bat drops to the ground with a clatter of metal nails against concrete before he winds both arms around Derek’s waist and presses his cheek against Derek’s back, right over his tattoo.

“Any movement out there?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. Derek shakes his head. While there _is_ plenty of movement, it’s all of the reanimated corpse kind. The faint heartbeats that he can hear in the distance, the survivors they’ve yet to make contact with, are steady and slow with sleep. 

“Nothing.” He drops his hands and curls his fingers around Stiles’ forearms, where they’re criss-crossed above the waistband of his sweatpants. “You should be sleeping. You’re not supposed to be on watch for another hour.”

“I just love this view so much, I had to come admire it a little early.” It never fails to amaze Derek how Stiles is capable of sounding so painfully sarcastic even when he’s sleep-deprived, and he pinches his arm fondly. Stiles jumps slightly. “I meant it as a compliment!”

“Are you saying _I’m_ the view?”

“Well, I’m certainly not talking about _that_ ,” Stiles replies, waving one hand out at the buildings marching away from them before he tucks his arm back around Derek. Derek can’t help but smile at the compliment, even though every smile feels inappropriate, feels like it should be saved for some kind of distant future where they actually manage to take back Beacon Hills.

(Of course, he knows all too well that if he were to reserve his smiles for that future only, it’s all too likely that he’d never smile again.)

He feels less guilty about closing his eyes and letting himself relax back into Stiles’ arms than he does about smiling. There’s nothing out of the ordinary happening in the streets below, no massive herd coming their way, no fires that might threaten the loft. Letting his guard partially down for a few moments isn’t going to do any harm, so he redirects his senses away from the city and towards Stiles. His scent has changed over the last few weeks, gained notes of weariness and fear that never seem to wane, but his base scent, mint and sugar and the barest spark of electricity, is nothing less than comforting. By focusing on the all too familiar, unique rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat, he can make the rest of the world fall away, at least for a few moments.

What makes him come back to his senses is Stiles swaying on his feet and nearly toppling over. His heartbeat suddenly spikes, as does the sour scent of confusion. Derek flicks his eyes open; before he turns around to face Stiles, he notices that the edge of the horizon has grown a shade lighter, from black to navy blue, a precursor to the sun.

“You need to get more sleep,” Derek says, absently rubbing a thumb along the bags under Stiles’ eyes. “I can take your shift. I’m not tired.”

(It’s not wholly the truth – frankly, Derek doesn’t think he’s ever felt so exhausted, right down to the marrow of his bones – but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.)

“I’m fine,” Stiles answers. The jaw-cracking yawn that immediately follows the words reveals them to be a lie, and Stiles’ cheek flushes hot underneath Derek’s hand. “Okay, fine, I can feel you judging from here. But you’re not taking my shift. Come get me in half an hour.”

“I will,” Derek replies, even though he has absolutely no plans on doing that. Sliding his hand from Stiles’ cheek up into his hair, which is almost on the shaggy side now, he leans in for a kiss. Stiles sighs into it and curls a hand around Derek’s hip, squeezes lightly before he backs away.

“Come get me. I mean it,” he calls back over his shoulder as he picks up his bat and heads back into the loft, pulls the door closed with a soft click. While Derek turns back to the city, he doesn’t pay any attention to it until he can tell that Stiles has climbed back into bed, until his breathing and heart slow back down. Only then does he pull his senses away from the inside of the loft and direct them back to the outside world, towards the corpses shuffling through the streets as far as the eyes can see.

From up here, it almost looks hopeless; it’s impossible to tell that they’ve spent weeks trying to clear the surrounding blocks, take back a tiny square of the city. But while Beacon Hills as a whole may belong to the dead, Derek will be damned if he lets the pack suffer the same fate, if he lets _Stiles_ suffer the same fate.

And so, as the horizon continues to lighten, he stands guard, with the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat ever-present in the back of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
